


Good To Be Trusted

by thefutureisequalaf



Series: Jessie Rourke [2]
Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Detectives, F/F, Genderbending, fem!archie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisequalaf/pseuds/thefutureisequalaf
Summary: A former friend and colleague comes to Jessie with a simple problem, but things get worse before they get better.





	Good To Be Trusted

When, after dinner, the doorbell rang, I wasn’t jumping out of my seat. It couldn’t be anyone we knew, because they would wait until after digestion before calling on Wolfe, so it was probably somebody with a notion to hire him. Whoever it was, whatever their problem, they had a snowball's chance of getting him to work this soon after his last fee and his last meal. At the one-way glass, however, I gave up predicting and just opened the door.

In purely practical terms, Sally Colt is almost too lovely to be a detective, yet she's been Doll Bonner's lithe, blonde right hand for years. She has the fastest eyes of anyone I've met – left to right, casual to piercing, cold to warm, instantly. Since I left Bonner’s agency, I’d hardly seen her and never spoken to her. “Doll have something for Wolfe?” I asked as I let her in. I felt on the defensive already.

“No.” She sounded shy, which was out of her usual character. “He wouldn’t want it. I'm hoping you’ll take it.”

“All right.” I ushered her into the front room, so we wouldn’t bother Wolfe. “What is it? Want your boyfriend checked on?” I cringed internally – I was trying too hard to be sociable and might've come off wrong. Then, I realized it had to be that.

She sat and looked serious. “His name's Dan Corbett. I love him and I trust him, but I've been in this business long enough to know people aren’t always what they seem. I want you to search his apartment.”

She was right, Wolfe would have to be starving to take this job. I wasn’t too keen on it, myself. “Now, wait a minute, Sal,” but she cut me off.

“I know, I know how it sounds. I just need someone objective to go over his place and tell me if the Daniel Corbett I want to marry is the only Daniel Corbett. I’ll give you a key and a letter, so it’s all above board. Of course, I’ll pay you, too.”

In the not-too-distant past, I would’ve done it for free, but, today, I had one big question and lots of little ones. I’ll spare you the little ones, about the would-be Mr. Sally Colt’s work, interests, and habits, since they didn’t help me any. “Why ask me?”

Sally’s mouth twitched into a bittersweet smirk. “Because you’ll bring plenty of skepticism without actually being biased.”

I raised my eyebrows, she shrugged, and I realized I would do it for free, albeit for a different reason. She retrieved keys and the letter from her bag and handed them over. She clasped my hand on her way out, too, which meant a lot. It was the first physical contact she’d allowed since I let on to my non-standard desires.

* * *

Daniel Corbett worked an unshakably regular shift in an office buried somewhere inside Penn Station, so I had plenty of time to pick his apartment apart and put it back together again. Not that I felt he warranted the full treatment, but Sally chose me to take it seriously. I’d finished with the usual hatboxes-and-mattresses search and was starting on a bookshelf in the bedroom when I heard the main door open and close. Cursing myself for letting a client tell me their case was risk-free, I had about two seconds to decide whether to bolt for the fire escape or else hide and hope. I chose the latter, thinking I’d rather show Dan Corbett the note and talk him down than leave him wondering who invaded his home. Probably, he’d just made a quick run home to get something and wouldn’t stay for more than a few minutes. It seemed unwise to just stand in the middle of his bedroom, but if he’d come home for clothes, I didn’t want to be in his closet, and if he felt ill I didn’t want to be stuck under his bed while he slept it off, so I stayed frozen.

After ten minutes, I felt like a whole new species of sap. Despite the bedroom door being a few inches open, as I’d found it, I heard no movement from the other room. I was just getting up the courage to go confess when the main door opened and closed again. A male voice said, “Is Dan here yet?” and then a dull metallic sound said _“thlickit thlickit”_ and something heavy hit the floor. I shoved my hand under my arm and found an empty space where my shoulder holster would be, if I weren’t on a harmless job for an old friend. I bit my tongue to keep from swearing. I could get to the nightstand where I’d found Dan’s gun in three seconds if I moved fast or twenty-five if I moved quiet. I opted for quiet and hated every step of it. Opening the drawer without a sound took another fifteen, or about five hundred heartbeats. It was a revolver, thank god, so I could see it was loaded. I made my way back to the bedroom door, moving as though in a pool of molasses. I tucked my toe into the opening, took a silent deep breath, pushed it open and stepped through. _“Don’t move.”_

A man in a chair moved. Specifically, he raised a little pistol from his lap, so I shot him. He jerked but still had hold of the gun, so I shot him again. He slumped in the chair and the gun fell back into his lap. I took quick strides over to him and grabbed the gun, a neat little Walther automatic with a long silencer. I unloaded it, for my own piece of mind, and set it under the chair. Its bearer was dead. Of course I checked and made sure, then went to the victim. He had two more holes in his skull than he was born with.

The law has its degrees of murder and I have mine. The degree is the number of telephone calls I have to make after I find the body. Murder in the first degree: notify the police. Murder in the second degree: call Wolfe, then the police. This looked like murder three. I leaned back and wiped the sweat that'd sprung up on my brow. Ordinarily, if I found a corpse while on a job in a place I wasn’t supposed to be, I might do any number of things to cover my tracks. Wolfe and I don’t fox the police for fun, though I understand how you might get that idea. I leave crime scenes not to conceal my presence but to conceal Goodwin's absence.

None of that crossed my mind today. I was in this one up to my neck and, unlike the murder weapon, Corbett's gun was full-volume, so I couldn’t waste time with trifles like identifying the man I killed before reporting to the authorities. I dialed a number I still remembered. _“Bonner Investigations. How can we help you?”_

“I’m Jessie Rourke. I need Sally Colt if you’ve got her and a phone number if you don’t.”

The operator sounded miffed, but answered, _“Yes, ma’am. One moment.”_

Once Sally’s voice came, I wasted no time. “Whatever you’re doing, forget it. Go directly to Wolfe’s house and stay there.”

A pause, followed by sounds of papers shuffling. _“I’m leaving now. Will he explain?”_

“I don't know. He may wait until I return.”

 _“Okay. Take care.”_ She rang off.

It feels good to be trusted; not “why”, not “is he expecting me”, just “okay.” I dialed Wolfe and braced for a worse reception. Fritz answered and I told him to buzz the plant rooms.

His growl came in my ear. _“What?”_

“I’ll keep this short, for both our sakes. I calling from the apartment of Sally Colt’s would-be fiancé, Daniel Corbett, which I entered using her key. He isn’t here and doesn’t know I’m here, but two dead men are. The first shot the second and then I shot him. I have no idea who they are or why they came here. Any urgent questions?”

Wolfe just growled again.

“Yes, sir. I just sent Sally Colt to your office. Call it professional courtesy. See her or not, but please let her stay.” He grunted. “Much obliged. I need to call Homicide now.”

 _“Do so.”_ He hung up. I dialed the third number.

* * *

When I finally made it back to the office, after the least fruitful interrogation it has ever been my privilege to endure, I saw I was in for more of the same. Inspector Cramer was planted in the red leather chair and letting Wolfe have it: “…and you mean to tell me that Rourke was there in the apartment – was there, by god – when Matheson shot Reynolds, and neither she nor you have any idea why?”

I counted the times I’d seen Cramer’s face redder, but it didn’t take long. Wolfe and I have pulled a lot of stunts on his watch, but this, if it were a dodge, might top the list.

“Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe said, hanging onto his calm, “I would not dare to contrive such a farce. To do so would be to invite your wrath and deserve it. Miss Rourke has discovered bodies before; this time, she was the victim of extraordinary inopportunity.”

“I’ll say she was.” From a combination of his experiences with women criminals and his experiences with me, Inspector Cramer of Homicide gave up on treating me like a lady long ago, which suits me fine. This is my work, not a dinner date. He aimed his half-mangled cigar at me. “I don’t say it's one of your gags. I know you’re too smart for that. But I do say you're holding out. You heard something they said, or one of them said something to you before he died, and you’re saving it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And why am I doing that, Inspector?”

“Because you see a nice fat fee in it.”

“I'll admit that, when your boys finally accepted that I wasn’t going to suddenly remember who those two men were and told me, I saw the possibilities.” And there certainly were possibilities. Up until I ended his career, Donald Matheson had been a junior executive at the Pennsylvania Railroad. Jackson Reynolds had been a mid-level account manager for Harrington Brothers, the investment bank. If their former colleagues were as in the dark as we were about what motivated one to kill the other, they might feel like dipping into their corporate pockets to buy the answers. “But there's a weak link in that reasoning. We cashed the last check from Arthur Wellman only two days ago.”

“Neat. Someday, I'll catch you flatfooted. As it stands, we got all we need from Daniel Corbett. Apparently, seeing that PI girl gave him ideas. He says he thought something fishy was going on in his department’s accounts and brought it to Reynolds, his bank contact, and Matheson, the division head. Matheson fed them a line about keeping it quiet while they investigated and suggested they meet at one of their homes to go over the ledgers. Corbett volunteered his apartment and had copies of his key made for them. It was a setup by Matheson, who we think was embezzling. Hell, it’s next to certain, since he was going to kill them both.”

“Then what the devil are you here for?” Wolfe demanded.

“Habit, probably.” Cramer threw his mangled cigar at my wastebasket and missed, also a habit. “Also, to serve Rourke with this.” He got up and handed me a court summons. “You shot someone and there'll be a hearing. It’ll be only a formality, given the way it happened.” He remained standing and addressed Wolfe. “But, if you find a client and it turns out you’re holding out on me, the next papers will be for you, for obstruction.”

I made a show of picking up his discarded cigar between curled thumb and forefinger and dropping it in the trash. Some of Cramer's red returned, and then he headed for the door.

After I'd seen him out and wiped my hand, I asked Wolfe, “Did Sally find the place all right?”

He grunted. “Yes. Mr. Cramer’s ostensible purpose in coming here was to question her, which she insisted he do in this office, in my presence. She professes to know nothing about the meeting between Corbett and the other men.”

“Did Cramer buy that?”

“Certainly not.”

“Do you?”

“I had no basis for judgement. Do you?”

I shook my head. “Of course, my self-esteem likes the idea that Dan told her about the meeting and she wanted me there in case anything happened, but then she would've been upfront about the risk. Make it twenty- no, forty to one that she didn’t. Is she still here?”

“Yes, in the front room. Bring her.”

I went to the connecting door and opened it. Sally came without prompting and sat in the red leather chair. “I know what you’re wondering. I was completely level with Jessie yesterday. If I’d known about the meeting, I wouldn’t have asked. He’s my man and I’ll take care of him myself.”

That wasn’t much of a thank-you, it seemed to me. Wolfe asked, “Did he tell you about his suspicions? Did he give any inkling that something was afoot?”

“An inkling, yes, but I thought he was cooking up a marriage proposal.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re asking questions now? What’s your angle?”

“I have no angle. I want to know what degree of risk you present to the well-being of anyone who works with you.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Again, if I’d known there’d be anything out of the ordinary, I wouldn’t have involved her.”

“Do you plan to involve Miss Rourke in any further matters related to this event?”

“No, I plan to drag my boyfriend home and show him how glad I am that he’s still alive. Will that be all?” She stood as she asked it and didn’t wait for an answer. I followed her out.

When she got to the front door, I got a surprise. Sally turned, wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, in a voice that cracked. For a second, I didn’t know what to do, but a hug like that obligated a response in kind. I held her for half a minute while she wept quietly. When she started to straighten, I released her a little too quickly, and she noticed. “Relax. You saved Dan’s life. I think that calls for a clean slate, don’t you?”

In response, I only nodded, because I was busy going misty-eyed. Way back when, Sally reacted to my interest in the most hurtful way imaginable.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think and I know I handled you wrong. I…you know how I am when I’m not prepared for something.” I nodded again and she finished it. “I should’ve just accepted that that’s who you’d been the whole time we were friends. I’m so sorry, Jess.” She saw my tears coming and hugged me again. This time, I wasn’t awkward about it.

“I’ll call you,” she promised. “It’s about time we got to be friends again, now that we’re both spoken for.” She smiled and headed for the street.

I wiped my eyes and returned to the office. “Is Miss Colt a creature of extremes?” Wolfe demanded.

“No. She resents it when people ask her the same thing more than once.“

“As a private investigator? Pfui. She showed notable reserve when facing Inspector Cramer.”

I flipped a hand over. “Sure, but she knows it’s his job to not believe her. If you were working, she would’ve played nice with you, too, but you told her you had no angle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call my Lily Rowan and arrange to show her how glad I am…” I kept going, but Wolfe had retreated behind his book.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are appreciated, but comments are adored :)


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